The Hate U Give

Like all my favorite stories, Angie Thomas’s The Hate U Give introduced me to a whole new world. Except, however foreign it feels to me, Starr’s world exists–in places I can drive to–even if they’re hard for me to see, given that I’m a white girl. My world might as well be a different planet from the one Starr grows up in. When she was twelve, her father gave her a lecture on how to survive a traffic stop. When I was twelve, my dad gave me the “ice-cream talk.” (Honey, you’re getting to an age when boys are going to start saying they love you, and you need to understand that for most of them, when they say, “I love you,” they mean it–but in the same way they mean “I love ice cream.” When they mean it for real, they’ll ask you to marry them.)

It was a good talk, and it served me well, but then, I didn’t need the other one. Up until a few years ago, I rarely encountered the police, and when I did, they were always respectful and helpful. (In the past few years, I have encountered the police rather more, and they’re still always respectful and helpful.) Like many people, I’m nervous around police officers–afraid I’ll get in trouble (Was I speeding? I didn’t think I was.) But I’ve never been afraid for my life. And growing up, I didn’t even know that in America, there were people who were afraid for their lives when they encountered police officers. The way the history was taught at my school, I imagined racism pretty much ended with Martin Luther King Jr. I only really knew one African American growing up. (My piano teacher–and I don’t recall ever talking to him about anything other than piano.)

When I went to the University of Toledo for school, though, and met classmates who lived in Detroit and were routinely pulled over on their commute home for “driving while black,” I could hardly believe it. I felt my country had betrayed me. How could we pretend everything was good, everything was right, when this kind of thing still went on?

I was outraged.

I still am. Because, as The Hate U Give has reminded me, nothing has improved in the intervening twenty-odd years. White America is still denying there’s a problem while non-white America gets bullied by the police and the courts (and sometimes by banks, housing administrations, “welfare” organizations, school systems…) There is an entire world, just beyond my doorstep, and if I don’t know about it, maybe it’s because I’m willfully ignorant.

And the church–oh the church. My white Christian brothers and sisters, I know some of you are saying you refuse to feel guilty about what our forefathers have done, and I agree that God doesn’t hold people accountable for the sins of their parents. Slavery is not our sin. But not even acknowledging there’s a problem while police harass and kill members of our community–people made in the image of God–that is sin. Not acknowledging there’s a problem when whole generations of African American young men go to prison and die–that is sin. It’s sin. You may not feel guilty. I may not feel guilty. But we are. And if we want to stop being guilty, we need to stop ignoring the problem and start repenting. And, just to be clear, when I say repenting, I’m not just saying we should feel bad that this is going on (though I’m not sure how we can avoid feeling bad that this is going on.) I’m saying we need to start actively working for change–in our churches, in our schools, in our communities, in our country. God is not pleased with us when we ignore oppression.

But, back to the story. I think that after the world-building, the thing I liked best was the characterization–Starr, and her friends, friends both from school and from her neighborhood. I liked getting to know Khalil especially–as more than just a drug dealer. I don’t think I’d realized before how often the media (and thus the rest of us) describe a person who may have engaged in criminal activity by that criminality alone, as if the criminal behavior is their entire identity. Khalil and Starr are pulled over on a (probably bogus) traffic stop, and then Khalil is shot when he leans toward the car window to ask Starr if she’s OK. Despite being unarmed and having no contraband in his car, Khalil is called a suspected drug-dealer in the news, as if that somehow makes him responsible for his own death. Though Khalil was, in fact, dealing drugs, Starr remembers him in much more fullness. She remembers their time growing up together, their days joking around when they worked together in her father’s shop, the way he took care of his grandma (who was battling cancer) and younger brother, the way he still loved his mother even though she was an addict. Even if it was true that he sold drugs (and he had no record, so what business did the papers have reporting such a thing?), it was irrelevant to his death. And even if it had been relevant to his death, it was by no means all he was.

Of course, this is a story. It didn’t really happen. Except it has happened. Again, and again, and again.

I love it when a book manages to teach me something without me feeling like I’m being preached at.

Jacob Have I Loved

Such a good book–and if I found myself a bit disappointed in the end, it’s only because the rest of the book was so astonishingly intense. For hours, I lived in the mind of Sara Louise Bradshaw, a girl growing up in the shadow of her beautiful and talented twin–feeling tall, awkward and unloved, but also working hard to shift her own and her family’s fortune.

When she works it all out, coming to terms with herself and her family and growing up rapidly in the last couple of chapters, the new attitudes feel too sudden, and it’s hard to believe that Sara Louise no longer feels the envy and insecurity that have plagued her throughout the book. She comes into her own–but it’s not at all clear to me how she manages it.

Nevertheless, for the setting alone I would read this book again. The little crab-fishing community on an island that’s being reclaimed by the sea is both beautiful and harsh, and I’m nearly seduced into wishing I’d grown up in a tiny town on a salt marsh.

Ridiculous, seeing how I don’t really like salt water, or beaches, or being out in the sun much…

Sara Louise herself is also a character I’d love to spend time with again, and her story reminds me that life’s greatest dramas happen at home.

Like I said, such a good book.

Nadya Skylung and the Cloudship Rescue

I always enjoy reading works by the RMFW Writer of the Year nominees, and this little gem by Jeff Seymour is one of the reasons why. It has sparkling wit, swashbuckling adventure, and a delightfully idealistic heroine, who starts out a foolhardy tomboy, but ends up a thoughtful and courageous leader. The artwork is beautiful as well.

The target audience is middle grade, but I enjoyed it immensely myself, and my tween years are long behind me. If you like fantastical worlds and kids who take on impossible odds, this might be a good story for you as well.

The Selection

I admit that I read this because (a) it was on lots of bestseller lists and (b) I liked the dress on the girls on the cover. I mean, I wouldn’t wear it, but it looked cool.

The story was as beautiful as the dress, with a great, spunky main character who is kind, socially aware, and more honest than is good for her. I couldn’t help rooting for her all through this, and though the story has significantly less closure than I prefer, I would heartily recommend it for anyone who likes Cinderella stories.

Hello, Universe

It’s easy to see why this book won the Newbery this year.  The kids in this story are quirky, delightfully complex, and easy to believe in and sympathize with.  Even Chet, the stereotypical bully, is not nearly so stereotypical as he first appears.

Don’t get me wrong.  He’s still a bully, and as such, largely unlike-able.  But he has a couple of good points, and you can kind of get where he’s coming from.  He could use a few good friends.

It’s a pity he’s not willing to consider Virgil, Valencia or Kaori as possible friends, because these three, as mentioned above, are wonderful characters, each strong in her or his own right.  They’re the kind of kids I wish I’d known when I was that awkward age between sixth and seventh grade.  Or perhaps I did know kids like this, but was too wrapped up in my own misery to recognize them.

These three, though, manage to look a bit beyond their own borders and make the most of the gifts the universe brings them–the stories, the experiences and the the others that cross their paths.  They grow as people in this short story, and it’s easy to believe that they’ll have what they need to face their tomorrows.

Story of a Girl

This is a story about Deanna, a small town girl whose dad caught her in the back seat of an older boy’s car three years prior to the story’s start.  Her life (mostly unfairly) has been defined by that moment ever since, but this is the summer where she begins to move forward, forgiving (sort of) herself and those who hurt her.

It’s well written, with sparkling dialogue, and though I wasn’t entirely satisfied with the ending, there’s enough hope there that I don’t hate it.  Well worth reading.

Thanks, Mom.  You were right–it is a good book.

 

 

The Left Hand of Darkness

This book immersed me in a world of cold and ice, where devious politics threatened to overwhelm me–and the androgyny of the people seemed among the most normal things about them.

As Le Guin says in her introduction,

Yes, indeed the people in it are androgynous, but that doesn’t mean that I’m predicting that in a millennium or so we will all be androgynous, or announcing that I think we damned well ought to be androgynous.  I’m merely observing, in the peculiar, devious, and thought-experimental manner proper to science fiction, that if you look at us at certain odd times of day in certain weathers, we already are.

It’s a testament to the power of Le Guin’s words that I actually read the introduction. Normally I skip such things.  But once started on this one, I couldn’t stop.  The book was lovely, but the introduction has given me food for thought for days.

Thank you, Craig.  Great gift.

Shanghai Girls

A beautifully-written book about two sisters who are chased from their beautiful life in 1930s Shanghai to the US by their father’s gambling debts and the Japanese invasion.  The characters and setting are very well drawn, and the plot is both enlightening and heartbreaking.  Immigration to this country has never been easy, especially for those who have to deal with racism on top of the trauma of leaving their homeland.

The ending doesn’t give me as much closure as I prefer, but I still found this a very, very good book.

Circle of Gold

Recommended to me by K, this is a beautiful tale about a young girl whose family is weighed down by grief, and the lengths that girl will go to to show her mother love and earn her mother’s approval.  It’s more serious than K’s usual fare, and that’s all to the good.  (There’s nothing wrong with cotton candy, but I don’t think it should become a staple of our diet.)  At any rate, this is a good story, well told.  Definitely worth reading (and it takes no time at all if you’re used to adult-length novels).

Outlander

I’ve been meaning to read this for months because one of my critique group members recommends everything by Diana Gabaldon.  And yet, somehow, I hadn’t managed it.  I think I was half afraid it wouldn’t live up to the hype.

But it really is that good.  The characters and settings are rich, the plot engrossing, and the romance fresh and satisfying.  I’d read it again.  I might even want to replace my e-book copy with an actual book.